Totale Finsternis
by Kierielle Huntington
Summary: Nancy finds herself remembering that the brightest light in Castle Finster was a certain Hardy's encouraging voice at the other end of a telephone. Oneshot.


**A/N:** Pure, light, snack-sized angst, where Nancy is (mostly) aware of feelings she believes need to be kept in check.

{You know the drill; I neither own Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, nor Her Interactive. ;) }

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It was a peculiarly free Saturday morning.

Hannah was off, visiting relatives for the weekend, and Dad was at the office.

Bess and George were out of town visiting relatives and Ned was swamped studying for finals. Unintentionally, it occurred to Nancy that Ned took plenty of time for _his_ projects while always seeming to begrudge hers. But that wasn't fair, really - school was school. He had to get it done.

For once, she was at a loss on what she should do with her snowy, gray Saturday.

She had just wrapped up a case two days ago - and another one had yet to come up.

An exceedingly rare occurrence.

So she was cleaning her room. Not that it was ever dirty, of course. But still, it was something productive to do.

She thrived on productivity.

She changed her sheets, she reorganized, she cleaned the windows.

Invigorated with her results, she sat down at her desk with a satisfied sigh and swiveled her chair to take in the whole room. Lovely. Crisp. Bright, contrasting with the outdoors. Practical.

And with small souvenirs from her cases placed on different white shelves, almost sentimental.

Almost.

With a pleased nod, she turned back to her desk and, rummaging through a deep drawer, replaced the little hula dancer with the miniature carousel.

Her eyes landed on the completed-cases scrapbook she kept on the desk and she gently picked it up. She flipped through the thick pages; shuddering at Blackmoor, smiling at Blue Moon Canyon, and recalling the phenomenal gelato in Venice. Good times, good times.

Her hand stopped at the case she referred to as The Captive Curse. That case had a beautiful castle, creepy grounds, a "monster" – all you could demand from a case.

But those weren't the things that she immediately thought of when she looked back on it.

She thought of Frank Hardy. He hasn't even been there in the flesh; never in her life had she been so grateful for the miracle of phone conversations.

His understanding, the warmth in his voice - his forced lightness had displayed a deep concern rather than carelessness. Maybe he thought she hadn't noticed. He _had_ tried hard to hide it. That much was clear.

But she was a _detective._

Of course she noticed.

That whole night, he offered her the advice, the teasing, the encouragement she needed. He had plenty of things he had to do, but he was there for her during that particularly terrible night.

 _Because he knew she needed him._

She and Ned had argued. The same argument that they'd had over and over.

And to be fair, Nancy didn't give Ned the time he rightfully thought was his. She knew that she wasn't the most attentive girlfriend ever. She wanted to do better, but it was just so easy to forget Ned's fears when she was wrapped up in a case.

It was different with Frank.

She wanted to call him every time a new development surfaced.

She wanted to share with Frank each new discovery because he was just as excited about it as she was. Ned commented on how glad he was that there weren't many dungeons at home; Frank had wished he could be there to explore it, too.

Nancy shook her head, condemning the comparison. That wasn't fair. Ned was the normal one. _She_ was the one who went off and almost got herself killed spur of the moment. Ned was utterly wonderful. She shouldn't even be thinking this. Frank was - _had to always be_ \- a friend.

Ned was a _great_ guy. Calm to her wild. He was a constant that she needed.

She closed her eyes, and the room she stayed in at Castle Finster came into her mind's eye. The desk, the four-poster bed, the unique cuckoo-clock phone. She heard Markus' self-absorbed chatter, then Ned's wounded, disappointed tone, and then Frank's warm, understanding voice.

She opened her eyes, considering without meaning to. Every phone conversation with Ned on that trip was...tense, at best. Her conversations with Frank? Warming, bright, invigoration itself. She had almost wished...well, remembering Frank's teasing voice, wished that...well, never mind. It didn't matter.

Couldn't matter. Things were splendid the way they were.

But still.

With one more glance at the page, she shut the scrapbook with more force than necessary. She set back where it belonged, swiveled her chair back, pulled her phone out, her fingers hovering over his number.

Then she realized what she was doing. Selfish. Potentially ruinous.

If she called Frank now...even just to hear his voice, ask him about the case he was working on...no. No. Not right now.

Even her practical mind had to admit there was a...wistful, foolhardy sort of longing...that would turn into a huge problem if she nursed it.

So, she simply wouldn't.

She slid her phone onto her desk, sighed - a short, sharp sigh - and tried to think of something nice to do for Ned. Maybe that would make her feel better.

Less like a traitor.

She went to get the vacuum cleaner. Maybe it would clear her head. After all, she was just annoyed with Ned because it felt like he hadn't made much of an effort the past week to see her. Wasn't his fault. Once break started it would be difficult to make him leave. She plugged the vacuum in with too much vigor.

It would all be fine.

But maybe...

Maybe she owed it to Frank to tell him she reciprocated...the...whatever it was in his tone that night. The care. The concern. Wanting him to do well and be safe and _enjoy_ his work - what she knew he wanted for her?

She was _way_ overthinking it. And she owed it to Ned to push away that urge. _So, no,_ she determined. She wouldn't say anything. Not now.

Frank was one of the best friends she had. She never wanted to do anything to jeopardize that.

Right now she couldn't tell him that he was a bright spot in darkness.

But someday, maybe, she would. Maybe.

She switched the vacuum on and let the shrill noise eclipse that light in her too-sharp memory.

She had to.

For now.

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